


i saw him and i fell

by Smalls



Series: a tale of a love from long ago [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hadestown Fusion, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, POV Multiple, Song Lyrics, roman is in love and has no chill, thomas is deeply amused, virgil is confused but intrigued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalls/pseuds/Smalls
Summary: Don’t come on too strong, Roman thinks to himself.“Come home with me?”***the hadestown au no one asked for but is here anyways featuring love sick Roman and suspicious but strangely charmed Virgil
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: a tale of a love from long ago [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884454
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	i saw him and i fell

Once upon a time, there was a railroad line. Don’t ask when and don’t ask where. It was the road to hell. It was hard times, a time of gods and men.

On that road to hell, there was a poor boy, a dreamer, a lover, a poet so great the people sometimes called him Orpheus, though he hoped his own story would have a happier ending. Roman was his true name.

Now Roman was the son of a muse. And this poor boy wore his heart on sleeve, naive to the ways of the world. But he sang like a bird and lived just as freely, writing his songs and pouring his heart out to anyone who might listen.His real gift, though, was not his voice but his dream, for Roman saw the world as it could be, instead of the way it was.

A boy like that can change the world or be crushed by it, if he isn’t careful. And Roman is rarely careful.

So Thomas, the train station manager—the man who can get you to your final destination—, looked out for the boy, took him under his wing. Partly because Roman’s mother was a friend of his, and Thomas likes to keep his promises, but also because the boy makes Thomas smile. And he smiles now, as he watches Roman stare at the hungry young man who just rolled into town this morning, as though he’s something miraculous.

The young man is pretty, Thomas is willing to admit, with his dark eyes and pale skin. But he holds his candle close to him and watches the people around him warily, as if he’s ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. _This_ boy is no stranger to the world, to the wind.

And Roman, the naive boy that he was, never thought before he fell in love, but far be it from Thomas to stand in the way of true love. Or infatuation. Whichever.

“You’re staring,” Thomas teases as he approaches the poet.

“Oh, am I?” Roman, the lovesick fool,doesn’t take his eyes off of the young man for a moment.

“You want to talk to him?” Roman nods helplessly.

“Yes.” Thomas laughs and nudges him with his shoulder.

“Go on.” Roman swallows and takes a nervous but eager step forward when a thought occurs to Thomas.“Oh, Roman?”

“Yes?” Thomas grins.

“Don’t come on too strong.” Roman flushes and nods. Thomas leans back against the wall and waits.

***

Roman approaches the table the beautiful young man sits at, nervously folding his sheet of paper into a flower and wishing he had something more to offer. He takes a deep breath and holds out the flower to the beauty before him.

 _Don’t come on too strong,_ he thinks to himself.

“Come home with me?” Roman asks, face hot. The young man looks up in surprise, then gives Roman a critical once over. The man's eyes are the deepest violet, and Roman feels caught in his gaze.

“Who are you?” the beauty asks with a raised eyebrow. He sounds worried, a little defensive. Roman drops to one knee.

“The man who’s gonna marry you.” He offers out the paper flower again and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m Roman.” Roman can hear quiet laughter behind him. He glances over to see Thomas, muffling his laughter behind his hand. The young man notices too and nods to Thomas in disbelief.

“Is he always like this?”

“Yes,” Thomas says without hesitation, voice warm and amused. The young man turns his violet eyes back to Roman and smirks.

“I’m Virgil.” Roman’s eyes light up.

“Virgil,” Roman repeats softly, like a prayer. “Your name is like a melody.” Virgil chuckles and shakes his head, and Roman’s heart melts.

“Listen to you. What are you, some kind of singer?” Roman smiles and nods.

“I also play the lyre,” he adds, both sheepish and proud. Virgil raises an eyebrow again.

“Oh, a liar and a player too.” He shakes his head and gets to his feet, and Roman’s heart drops. “I’ve met too many men like you.” Virgil starts to walk away and Roman quickly gets to his feet.

“Oh, no, I’m not like that!” Roman hastily reassures. He glances back at Thomas for help, and Thomas, mercifully, comes closer.

“He’s not like any man you’ve ever met,” Thomas confirms. He gives the poet a little push toward Virgil and says, “Tell him what you’re working on.”

Roman looks at Virgil, who has at least stopped walking away. “I’m working on a song,” he says quietly. “It isn’t finished yet, but when it’s done and when I sing it, spring will come again.”

Virgil quirks his head, looking more interested, and a little amused.

“Sorry, come again?”

“Spring will come,” Roman insists.

“When?” Virgil challenges, “I haven’t seen a spring or fall since…” He laughs and shakes his head in defeat. “I can’t recall.”

“That’s what I’m working on,” Roman says eagerly and takes Virgil’s hand, leading him outside of the small bar and into the street. Virgil’s hand is warm and soft in his.“A song to fix what's wrong. Take what's broken and make it whole. A song so beautiful, itbrings the world back into tune.” He closes his eyes and dreams of what could be. “Back into time. And all the flowers will bloom, when you become mine.”

He opens his eyes and smiles at Virgil, offering him the paper flower once more.

Virgil laughs and looks at Thomas, who followed them out, with mock understanding in his eyes.

“Oh, he’s crazy,” he says, not bothering to whisper and Thomas shrugs. “Why would I become his anything?”

Thomas smiles knowingly.

“Maybe because he'll make you feel alive.” Roman looks at Virgil hopefully and, to his surprise, Virgil is looking back at him, eyes thoughtful and soft.

“Alive, huh? Around here, that’s worth a lot,” he admits quietly and takes the flower from Roman’s hand. “So what else you got?”

“Huh?”

***

Virgil twirls the sad, yet sweet, paper flower thoughtfully between his fingers, then gives the silly poet a teasing smile.

“You got a ring for me, lover boy?” To his surprise, Roman looks embarrassed as he shakes his head.

“No,” Roman admits reluctantly. “But I’ll play my song for the rivers, and when I sing, all the rivers will sing along. And they will break their banks for us, and with their gold be generous.” Virgil can’t help but laugh at the boy’s imagination and circles Roman with a considering look.

“So the rivers are going to give us the wedding bands?” The singer nods confidently and Virgil smirks. “Well, who’s gonna provide the wedding table, huh? These are dark and hungry times, lover boy.”

Roman spins in time, trying to keep his eyes on Virgil. As though he can't look at him enough. 

“Darling, when I sing my song, all the trees will sing along,” Roman promises, smiling now, bright and warm as the sun. “And they are going to bend their branches down and lay their fruits upon the ground. So the trees will lay the wedding table.”

 _Darling? Really?_ Virgil thinks with a sardonic smile.

It’s been a long time since someone has thought of Virgil as darling. It's been a long time since someone's smile made him feel like that. 

“This really is going to be some song, isn’t it?” Virgil runs his hand across Roman’s back and grins when he hears Roman inhale sharply. This is safer, more familiar. Teasing touches and knowing grins. Not poetry and songs.“To make the rivers and trees and Spring herself obey you.”

“Yes, it will be.” And damn, if the boy doesn’t sound confident. It should be annoying but Virgil finds it strangely endearing. Everything about this madman is apparently endearing.

“Then why don’t you sing it then?” he asks.

“Because it isn’t finished.” Virgil rolls his eyes and steps away from Roman.

“Sing it anyway.” Roman hesitates and Virgil turns as though to walk away, then glances at the poet over his shoulder.

“You wanna take me home, right?” he asks, allowing his oversized jacket to slip down and reveal his shoulder and Roman nods helplessly.

“ _Yes._ ” he breaths.

“Then sing.”

Roman looks nervous but he obediently closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

And all Virgil can do is stare.

The song that leaves the singer’s mouth is hauntingly beautiful, all sorrow and longing and pleading and hope. It echoes off the walls of the buildings, and the trees, and the hills, and for a moment it feels as though the rivers and the trees really do take up the poet's song until all Virgil can hear is the melody that he knows will haunt his dreams.

As the song comes to a slow, Roman is staring at him, now offering a bright red carnation. Virgil hesitantly takes the offered flower as though it’s some sort of trick. Because it has to be a trick, right?

“How’d you do that?” Virgil asks, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice.

“I don’t know.” Virgil looks up sharply, but Roman truly looks just as startled as Virgil feels. “The song’s not finished.” Virgil almost laughs.

“And even so, it can do this?”

“I guess?” Virgil grabs Roman’s hand, looking him dead in the eyes.

“You have to finish it!” he orders. “You _have to_!” Roman nods quickly.

“I will,” he promises solemnly.

“Good. So tell me, lover boy, when we’re wed—” and Roman’s face lights up “—who’s going to make the wedding bed, huh?”

“Lover, when I sing my song, all the birds will sing along. And they lay their feathers on the ground and we’ll lie down in eiderdown.”

“So the birds will make the wedding bed.” It’s not a question. Virgil knows, has seen, what this song will do. Knows what _Roman_ can do. If he says the birds will give up their feathers, then they will.

“And the trees will lay the wedding table," Virgil continues, "And the river will give us the wedding bands when you sing your song.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Roman breaths, like a promise. And Virgil believes him. He takes the poet’s hand--- he really is lovely, with a face almost as beautiful as the music he makes. Maybe he could bear the winds and the storms if Roman held his hand.

"Well then, until it’s finished,” Virgil whispers into Roman’s ear, “where will we sleep _tonight_?”

He can hear Roman swallow and watches as his face flushes a lovely shade of pink.

“I, I have a spot,” the poet says, stumbling over his words and Virgil grins.

“Take me there, lover boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> look, i defy you to listen to "Come Home with Me" and not think about this ship, okay? 
> 
> this just a fun little one-shot that i might expand on later if people are interested in that kind of thing, so feel free to leave a comment or kudos. 
> 
> thanks for reading :)


End file.
